The Nothing
by enjoiturbulence
Summary: Jim and Pam have a lot to learn about the bottom. Spoilers thru the Negotiation.
1. Chapter 1

_There was the nothing, and that was nice. A middle ground between black and white, a nice gray, perhaps, but pleasant in the emptiness of it all. You're there, but not really, because you're nowhere. Then you notice. You notice that the gray isn't really gray anymore, but more the color of capillaries, and suddenly the nothing is a tunnel, and at the end is a form that you can instantly tell, despite the unfocused eyes. It's her, and she's looking down at you, and as you're eyes become more and more focused, you can tell she's been crying. She whispers "Jim" and you're out, actual sleep this time, but before you go, you think you should have gotten that DNR._

_"It's only when you've lost everything, that you're free to do anything."_ It all started with that movie quote. Jim said it offhandedly to Pam one day, back before things changed. She asked about it, and he told her where it came from, then he went on to explain how he thought it could be traced back to Jung's writings on the symbols of Alchemy. Nigredo, they called it, the point of maximum despair, how only on reaching that could you build yourself back up to your true self.

Then, of course, things changed. There was a schism between the two best friends, and you could hardly call them that any longer. Both of them recalled the conversation often, as they each did with every conversation, looking for little moments that they should have done differently, the moment of their schism being on top of both their lists.

When Jim came back, Pam thought this was it. She'd reached the bottom, and could build herself up again with him acting as the cornerstone. Then, of course, she met Karen, and figured she had a little further down to go.

Jim thought he'd been the lowest he'd ever go in those months without her in his life. He thought the bottom looked a hell of a lot like Stamford. Then he met Karen, who of course plays a big role in this sad little tale, and thought she could be his cornerstone to rebuild upon. See a pattern, here?

When he came back, he thought it was over, the "it" being the single most defining relationship, at the same time the most satisfying and destructive friendship he'd ever had, but there she was, smiling electric and beautiful and instantly Jim knew he'd fucked up more than he could ever know. He was pretty much at the bottom, he thought, when he explained he was sort of seeing someone. He was reminded of that first lunch, when he found out she was engaged. It was like looking into a mirror when he looked into those beautiful eyes and saw what could only be heartbreak.

So, the schism got bigger and they both realized they had more to learn about hitting rock bottom. Pam got a bit closer when she went back to Roy. She was almost there when he trashed the bar. She was so close when Roy tried to hurt Jim. And then there was that glorious moment when she tried to apologize to Jim about the whole fucked situation, and he made that cruel comment, doing his best to protect his own heart while so utterly breaking hers. There it was, finally, the bottom. She could rebuild herself into the image of what she truly was meant to be, though she realized at that point, the desired cornerstone was still required.

Jim, however, he had a ways more to go. Miles and miles before he could sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just after he dismissed her attempts at apologies that he found her. He was heading down to get something from his car when he saw her. She was sitting in the stairwell, her head in her hands, her small frame racked with sobs. He instantly knew what was wrong. He sat down beside her, and she moved away from him. He put an arm around her shoulders and she tried to struggle, but he wouldn't let her, simply bringing her to him. The very least he could do. Against her better judgment, she put an arm around him and cried into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, the words almost strangled in his throat. She nodded, and when the tears were gone, she sat up, extricating her arms from around him. She left tear and mascara stains on his shirt, almost a reflection of her face just above his heart.

She didn't say anything, just got up and left the stairwell. He sat there for a few moments. He was so close to the bottom, he could almost make it out, like an abyss that came up to his knees. Never before could Jim Halpert say he actually hated himself, but now, now Jim was there, hating the body and soul he had. It hurt, this hate that he knew he shared with the woman who left her tears on his heart, the tears he caused. He wondered how many tears she had shed over him. Once, he heard a cliché, that the only man worth a woman's tears is the man who won't cause them. He wasn't worth her tears, wasn't worth her.

He wanted to cry the evil he thought lived in his heart, but found himself dead inside.

After a few minutes he went back into the office. Pam was sitting at her desk, her face red and splotched from her crying. She looked up at him as he walked in, her eyes glassy and a weak smile that churned his bowels.

He sat at his desk and knew she was watching him. He glanced up and saw another woman watching him, though he didn't feel her eyes. He never could. He didn't meet Karen's eyes, simply looked back at his computer and managed some sales, automatically going about his job.

Closer to five, Karen came up and sat on his desk. He knew it was a violation, she should be there.

"So, when're you coming over tonight?" she asked.

"I'm not," he replied, his voice dull.

"What?"

"I'm not."

"Jim, we've been planning tonight for a while, now. You knew about tonight. God, Jim, we need to talk."

"No."

"No?"

"No more talks. We're done, Karen. Hate me all you fucking want, but I can't do this anymore." By "this", he meant everything.

"Bastard," she said in a harsh hiss. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her purse from her desk and left the office. He went back to his computer, not even seeing the looks the office was giving him, but feeling those eyes on his back.

At five, Pam quickly left, needing to think, needing to get everything sorted out again. She needed to rebuild. Jim, he sat at his desk for a bit, trying to clear his mind of anything there and failing. Finally, he got up, grabbed his messenger bag, and went to his car, stopping at the liquor store on his way home for a bottle of bourbon.

When he got home, the dropped his suit coat and bag on the floor by the door. Mark was home, but he was in his room on the bottom floor, the door closed, probably spending some private time with his girlfriend. The hate Jim had for himself just grew. He opened the bottle and took a big sip. He always loved that first drink, the tingle on his tongue and burn down his throat. He took another drink, than another. He took the stairs up to his room, finishing off the bottle as he crossed the threshold.

Looking at the empty bottle, he had a sudden itch. He went to his bathroom and locked the door. He took a deep look in the mirror, taking in everything he could see. There he was, that stupid, cruel, sick motherfucker. In a quick motion, he crashed his forehead against the mirror, shattering it instantly.

Suddenly dizzy, he dropped to the floor, sitting Indian. Parts of the mirror were all over the floor. He picked up a big piece and looked in at himself, seeing the blood he didn't feel flowing down in spider webs across his face.

He laughed at the crimson mask. He laughed at the sad fuck he was. He laughed at how sharp that shard of glass was. He laughed as he held the shard and flicked it across his left wrist, than the right. He laughed as he got more and more lightheaded. He laughed as he heard Mark calling his name, than beating on the door. Then, he wasn't laughing anymore, and everything was gone, and he was alone in the nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the summer after his freshman year and Jim went with some friends to the lake for a swim. There he is, some ten feet from shore, a few strokes out, and he goes under, and the current is all there is, keeping him down, his first real enemy. He struggles, thrashes against it, what little air in his lungs escaping to the surface. The water is dark, heavy against him. He needs to get to the surface, needs air, but then he realizes the current is not a monster, is not his enemy, but a friendly agent, here to take him home. And then, when he realizes that, he's gone. He's there, in the nothing, a beautiful and blissful nonbeing that stretches out forever. Then, he's coughing up water, his buddy Chad having performed flawless CPR. He doesn't tell anyone what it was like, doesn't tell anyone how he wanted to stay there in the nothing forever. He doesn't like to go swimming anymore, though.

Pam's driving aimlessly around Scranton, working on figuring out the mess that's her life when Jim finds himself there, again, in the nothing. She pulls around a corner in a neighborhood she knows she shouldn't be in and there, in front of his house is the ambulance, lights flashing but silent, and the medics are loading in a stretcher with a long body on it.

She's parked and out of her car fast, and there's Mark, and perhaps she's screaming, Pam's not too sure afterwards. He tells her what little he knows, unconscious on the floor of his bathroom, massive bleeding, and then she's following him following the ambulance to the hospital, and there's a hollow feeling in her stomach, like this is it, what the bottom looks like, her best friend just north of death and if he goes she doesn't know what she'd do.

Mark called Karen as he drove, completely unaware of the sudden breakup barely three hours earlier, and Karen, as much as she wanted to hate Jim, could only drive in silence with tears trailing in her wake. She told herself she didn't mean it, the grief-caused wishes for Halpert's death, and of course she didn't, but now she was blessed, just so much closer to the bottom. Soon, she'd she the beauty in destruction, that only through it can we tear down the old for the new.

Karen and Pam say nothing to each other as they wait, Mark and his girlfriend between the two women. Karen fidgets, shaking her leg and constantly wiping away her tears, while Pam is still, almost like a statue.

"We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view," Mark said. "What the fuck was your point of view?"


	4. Chapter 4

"He's always been like my brother, you know? He had step-brothers, and a half-brother over in London, and maybe some more in Israel, not too sure, but I never had a brother. Only child. But Jim? Jim was- is my brother. Met him in college, freshman year. We were roommates, and we were tight damn near instantly. Could always tell how he was feeling, and he could do the same with me. We talked about everything, and I fucking mean everything. Had so many arguments, to be sure, but friendly ones, though, nothing ever got bitter. Some things we just saw differently. Me, I wanted something, I went for it, to fucking hell with consequences, you know. But Jim? Jim over thought everything. Never went with his gut. Don't know what sent him down this path. Me and that fucker, we're going to have a long talk when he wakes up." Mark laughs wetly, tears down his face.

Karen just heard the man talking, not too sure what he meant, but Pam knew exactly what he meant by consequences, and she had an idea what set Jim off, though she didn't want to admit it to herself, let alone vocalize the thoughts.

"We broke up today. He ended it, said he was done talking. God, I could have loved him, but I think I saw it coming. The breakup, not," Karen paused, breathing deep, "not this."

"Have you called his mother?" Pam asked.

"Yeah. She wants to be here, but I told her what they told me. He'll live, but no telling when he'll wake up. Lost a lot of blood. God, there was so much blood. Amazing his heart can still beat with that much blood gone."

"How's she doing?"

"She started crying when I told her."

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"No. Told her he fell and hit broke the mirror. How can you tell someone's mother they tried to kill themselves?"

"You don't know that's what he did," Karen said, a sudden evil look on her face.

"There was a bloody finger print on the piece of glass. The cuts on his wrists. That's all it could be."

"Jim wouldn't do that."

"I don't want to think so either, but that's all it can be," Mark said. He was finding it hard to talk.

"Jim wouldn't do that."

"Listen, Karen," Mark started.

"He wouldn't fucking do that," Karen yelled. "Jim would never do that. Never! Do you even know him?" The hurt on Mark's face is heartbreaking and that moves Pam.

"Do you?" she said, her voice quiet, her face streaked with tears, more tears than she's ever cried before, but her eyes were strong, and they bore into Karen. This was it. Everything feeling she never wanted to have about Karen was there, on the surface.

"You think because you have a stupid little crush on him you do?"

"I know more about that man than you ever could. And as hard as it is for you to understand, I love him and he loved me. You don't kill that with distance, and you don't kill it with someone else. You should count yourself as lucky to have spent those months with him, to be in his life." This, this was the Fancy New Beesly.

Karen could only be thankful the cameras weren't there.


	5. Chapter 5

The doctor comes out and for now, he should live, but he still hasn't regained consciousness and with the medication he probably won't until morning. Karen, who hasn't spoken in a long time, is the first to leave. Mark and his girlfriend start to leave but when Pam refuses to go and asks the doctor if she can see him, Mark stays. He tells his girlfriend she can go, he'll get a cab home, and there's a quiet look between the two of them that Pam's not supposed to see but she does. Mark's girlfriend takes the keys he offers, and Pam can't believe she doesn't even know her name but wants to get to know her because she seems nice, or at least respectful of the situation.

Mark takes up Pam's plea to see their friend and the doctor informs the two that it's against protocol but Jim could use some loved ones around even if he is unconscious. Pam doesn't flinch at the words "loved ones". The doctor leads them through those big, swinging doors and down a corridor to the ICU and there he is, connected to machines and tubes up his nose and horrible bandages on his wrists and enough stitches on his forehead to ensure a pretty bad scar.

The cliché of a breaking heart is one Pam has heard several times, but she never knew the reality behind it before seeing him like that. Her chest physically hurt, a dull, stabbing pain that she thought would never go away. Mark sat with his head in his hands, silently sobbing, while Pam leaned over and got a good look at Jim's face. It seemed content. A tear fell from her cheek and landed on the stitches.

"I just wanted you to know, just once, that I love you."

There was the nothing, of course, because that's all there was and all there needed to be. Midway between black and white. He wasn't there because he wasn't anywhere, but where he wasn't, it was nice. Then he noticed. He noticed he noticed, and the nothing wasn't that nice gray any longer, but the color of the sun behind your lids, and then there was the tunnel, and at the end was an obscured figure, but even in silhouette he knew who it was, and he thought he should have filled out that DNR. She whispered something, but he couldn't hear her, and "God," he wants to cry, "God why did I do it," but she's gone, the tunnel's gone, the nothing's gone, and it's quiet.

He's standing on a peninsula and is virtually surrounded by a calm sea. The air, he can actually smell the salt and he can hear the waves and he must be dead, but this is so real, the sun looming large over this place. He stands there before the ocean and he knows it wants him. It's the nothing and it wants him back. All he has to do is step forward and he'll be in the nothing forever, no more Jim, no more Pam, just the blissful big empty and then, those words that were whispered come on the wind and float around him on the air and he can see every syllable before they fall into the ocean and now it doesn't want him, the ocean doesn't want him today, a decision has been made, and the bright sun goes out and everything is the color of light behind closed eyes and there's a hum and a pressure on his chest the weight of a petite hand.


	6. Chapter 6

Her left hand rests on his chest while her chin is laying on her right, which she's draped across the bed, running parallel with his arm. She's watching him, completely unaware of Mark watching her. Something's budded in his chest and he knows he should leave them alone for a spell, even if Jim's deeply asleep. He clears his throat and she jumps a bit, having forgotten about Mark's presence.

"Sorry, but I need a cup of coffee. You want one?"

"Sure." She reaches for her purse but he holds up a hand to stop her.

"I've got it." He walks to the door but stops before exiting. Turning, he eyes the two of them before speaking his mind. "Pam, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure," she says, not too sure what she could do for this person she's only met twice.

"When he wakes up, make sure he's never lonely again."

Pam is a statue again, at first not wanting to admit what he's implying, but she remembers she's already tipped her hand, and despite the tears, she manages a smile and a nod before he leaves the room.

She goes back to watching him sleep. He seems to be in actual sleep, and not in medically induced unconsciousness. He'll wake up, and she'll tell him, actually tell him, and the thought of what comes next, well, that's too much, so she contents herself with brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. The action brings her more joy than the presiding hours should allow. Jim's eyes flicker behind his lids, and she fights the desire to kiss them. Soon enough, she hopes.

The black stone obelisk stands impossibly high, as though it's the connection between earth and sky. It casts no shadow. He walked miles along the dirt road until he came to its base, and found a pathway through the very middle of it. No where else to go, he entered the tunnel, and found it epically cold, completely silent and, at the center, underneath the giant obelisk, very dark save for a point of light before him and one behind. Jim kept walking until the far point became the outside world, and there, before him, the road led up a hill and seemed to end at a large house on top. At the base, a frail old man sat in front of a fire, smoking a cigarette hand rolled in a corn husk and poking a stick into the flames.

"Didn't expect you for some time, young fella'. Neither did Yesha."

"Yesha?" Jim asked.

"Yesha's up top, in the house. He's preparing supper. Course, you can't stay for supper, what with you just passing through."

"I'm just passing through?"

"Course you are, fella'. We're not expecting you home for quite some time, as I said, quite some time. Still, you've come a long way, and have a ways more before you can sleep, and still more promises. Would you like to have a sit down?" With his gnarled hand that didn't hold the cigarette, the old man points at a spot across the fire. Jim has no reason not to take up the old man's offer.

"Who are you?" Jim asks once he's settled on the cool earth.

"Me? I'm Prufrock."

"Hello, Prufrock. I'm Jim, Jim Halpert."

"Dear fella', I know exactly who you are. We all know who you are here."

"Where is here, exactly?"

"Home, dear boy. You're home. And yet, I fear you haven't the time quite yet."

"No time? I thought I had all the time in the world."

"To be sure, everyone thinks that, thinks that there is time, but there will be, there always is. There will be time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands that lift and drop a question on your plate; time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of toast and tea."

"You're an odd fellow, aren't you?"

"I've been called that, sure, but there will be time, dear boy. And I fear you must be on your way. The trail forks here," he said, pointing at a path leading into a deep wood, away from the large house high up on the hill. "Just keep walking, young fella', and you'll find where you need to be."

"Will I see you again, Prufrock?"

"Down the line, you will. Get to walking." Jim grinned and stood, following the path towards the forest. This road, he wondered where it would take him.

Prufrock watched him go, a smile on his senile old face. "Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina," he said, before tossing the cigarette into the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

The forest is religiously quiet. No sound, not birds or the wind in the trees, just Jim's steps as he walks the trail. He goes deeper, not sure where exactly Prufrock is sending him but not knowing where else to go. The woods grow darker, the path smaller until finally it comes to an end. There, stands a gnarled, ancient tree, completely devoid of leaves. On the side of the tree facing him, there is a door, a simple, wooden door with a brass handle.

It's absurd, he thinks as he stares at it. This whole place is absurd, and yet, absurdity was his life. He doesn't want to turn back, and as he is preparing himself to reach for the handle, it opens on its own, a bright, blinding light comes out and a figure is silhouetted as it walks out into the woods.

Mark, looking awful, tears and bloodshot eyes and snot. He took a few steps into the woods, almost colliding with Jim and yet acting as he didn't see his roommate. Jim watches as he took a few steps and slowly dissolved into nothing, as if he had never been there. Jim looked back at the open door, the light so bright it was like a star hung just beyond it. He walked through.

When the light faded, he thought it odd to see himself lying prostrate on a hospital bed, to see a woman holding his hand and sobbing. Even odder that it was Pam.

"Funny, isn't it?" a voice from behind him asked. Jim turned to see a long, thin body, a man with slicked back, gray hair and hollow, black eyes. He wore an expensive, tailored suit and was smoking a hand rolled cigarette wrapped in a cornhusk.

"What's funny?" Jim asked warily.

"It's funny the perspective one can get looking at his own corpse."

"I'm dead?"

"Well, you're not in there, are you?" The man took a long drag off the cigarette.

"In where?"

"The shell."

"Who are you?"

The man smiled, his teeth stained. He exhaled smoke through his nostrils, seeming lost in thought before speaking. "Who I am is of no importance. Though, of course, we have met before."

"Have we?"

"Just a few hours ago, my friend."

"When was that?"

"Who do you think it was that gave you that itch?" the man said, his voice a low growl.

"Who are you?" Jim asked again. He wanted to ask other questions, but that was the simplest at the moment.

"Like I said, friend, who I am is of no importance at the moment. What is important is the choice I must make."

"And that choice is?"

"Well, it's my decision what door you walk through."

"What?

"Well, you can either walk through that door," he said, pointing to the door Jim had just entered, "or that one." He pointed across the room, behind Pam, to a door he hadn't noticed before. One that shouldn't be there, he figured.

"What's it matter what door I go through?"

"Of course it matters, friend. If you go back through that one," he indicated the first door, again, "you'll be back in the woods. You'll be waltzing Matilda until your very memory is gone, until there is nothing but the mansion on the hill. And of course, you'll never get to go inside. You'll be forced to stay on the front steps until long after the kingdom comes. You'll never even get to meet Yeshua."

"Yesha?"

"I see you've met Prufrock, but yes, Yesha," he said as if the name was offensive. "If I decide you must go back through that door, you'll never get to go home, your real home. But, if you go through the other door, well, you'll have that chance, one day."

"And how do I get through that door?"

"You've got to earn the right, friend. See, you've got to deserve what you've been given, and sad to say, you've wasted it so far. Like the good damned majority of all those insects, you've squandered the most precious gift imaginable. Why should I let you go back and continue to waste it."

At that moment, Pam stopped sobbing. The two men turned to the woman as she held onto Jim's hand. "I love you so much, Jim. I'll make sure neither of us are never lonely again. You belong with me Jim. You're mine."

The man was furious, his face so contorted with rage, Jim almost thought for a moment he knew who the man was, but he just as soon dismissed the thought. In a moment, though, the anger was gone and the man just grinned. He pointed to the door behind Pam, and it opened softly. Jim could see the darkness behind it, almost the color of closed eyes.

"We will meet again, friend. Next time, make sure you have some courtesy. Make damn sure, because I can guarantee you won't have this chance again."

Jim nodded, and stepped toward the open door, careful not to bump into Pam, not even sure if he could, definitely not sure as to where he was. That was him, asleep on the bed, a hospital bed, he noticed. With a look back, he saw the man was gone, though the smell of his cigarette still hung in his nose. He walked through the door, and as soon as he was inside, it slammed shut.

It was dark. And yet, there seemed to be a light. A tunnel, perhaps.


	8. Chapter 8

The world was there when he opened his eyes, as was its promise, though not quite the world he expected. There stood the improbably tall black stone obelisk, though the surroundings were different. It was desert, and stretched smoothly for several miles in all directions before climbing to high mountains, a ring of them. It was quiet. There was the wind, and a birds echo flew with it. The ground was strewn with strange, black-red rocks that were quite heavy for mere pebbles. For some time Jim examined the obelisk, which perhaps was made of the same rocks along the desert floor. When he carved the obelisk into his mind he looked up at the sun, which was bigger than he remembered, and shaded slightly red. The moon was out, as well, though it was different. The two pieces of it were close together in the sky, a mosaic of its former self hanging up in heaven. He looked to the surrounding ring, and there seemed to be a figure there, though it was barely a speck in the vast distance. With nothing else to do, he started walking towards the figure. It was hard going, the terrain becoming rough the closer he got to the mountains. He found a well warn trail hewed in the rock that he followed up, and finally when he was on top, he found it wasn't a series of mountains at all, but the top of a crater, with the black stone obelisk in the exact center, so tall it scratched the belly of a passing cloud.

The figure was gone, but there was a trail in the dust, and as was his way, he followed it for several miles until he came to a pump well and found he was thirsty. Jim started pumping and soon a gurgling started and then the bucket was full of pure water. He drank until he was out of breath. The water was sweet and quenching. Having had his fill, he found the path in the dust and started walking. The terrain went from desert to grassland, green hills with hints of blue, flowers shades he had never seen before, colors that made him teary from the beauty. He wanted to pick a flower for Pam but the gesture seemed vulgar in this place, so he kept walking. He walked for what seemed like days, then weeks, all the while the red sun never moved from its spot above, though the broken moon kept its path in the sky, periodically setting and rising again. He didn't eat, was not hungry but he did get thirsty and when he did he would find another pump well and so he would drink.

Soon he came to a wide, rocky river and a boat attached to a rope that went across the expanse. The boat was made of driftwood but held him and he sat and pulled his self across the river. The water seemed to get wider as he went across, and soon there was fog and it got very thick. When he got to the middle of the river, he stopped in the fog and he couldn't see either shore and imagined there was no land and he would forever be at that place with no land and calm water. The thought of no land and no other people and no Pam made him cry, but he knew he would see her again and so they were pleasant tears. A melody came to him on the breeze, whistling a song that he couldn't place. He went back to pulling his way across the river and soon saw the shore and there was a man standing there, waiting for him.

"Been waiting for that boat," he said. The man was healthy looking despite his obvious age. Short white hair, white stubble on his jaw, bright eyes a shade Jim had never seen before, a pleasant smile. Khaki pants the color of dust. Tanned torso like leather.

"Been waiting for the shore," Jim said as he got out of the boat. The man nodded as he sat down in the boat.

"Best get to walking, friend. Miles to go, to be sure, but you're close, now."

"Where am I going?"

"To where you're passing through. Walk safely, now." The man waved and started pulling his way to the opposite shore. Jim had a feeling he just met Yesha.


	9. Chapter 9

He watched the boat disappear into the fog before turning and following the trail out of the riverbed and over a hill. He walked through a field of green that soon faded to a black, Vulcan valley of jagged, sharp rock. The path cut safely through the landscape. The smell of sulfur burned at his nose and the rocks cut at his feet, but he kept on walking. He crested a hill and the sulfur on the air gave way to salt, and there was the sea, stretching out past the horizon. He walked down and there he was, on a peninsula, surrounding by the water.

He stared out into the abyss, thinking of the last time he saw the ocean, when he thought of it as the nothing calling him back. Looking out, he thought of it as time, and it ended here at the shore. All he knew to do was keep walking, and so he did, out into the surf, knee deep, waist deep, chest deep, chin deep, and then he was under, the water clear but he kept walking and it got darker and soon there was no light and then the water was gone and for a moment he feared he was back into the nothing.

Pam had never been much of a drinker. She'd occasionally have a few, sure, but rarely got drunk. For a few years it was because she was something of a permanent designated driver, but mostly it was because she didn't enjoy the feeling of being drunk. Getting there, sure, that was enjoyable, but being fully intoxicated, that was hardly fun.

She never used. The idea repulsed her more than most else.

She'd never been hurt, not like Jim. She looks down at his frame and wonders on what must be going on wherever he really is. He's there, before her, but not really, she thinks. He's really somewhere else, and through her tears she hopes he'll come back, wishes and would certainly sell her soul for him to come back.

She's never seen the nothing, doesn't even know what it is, but the mere thought he might not come back, no matter what truth the idea holds, the idea itself is a bit like looking into the abyss and her tears don't seem to be stopping anytime soon. She buries her face in his chest and let them come.

Then, there is a shift. The rhythm of his heart monitor changed just slightly. He breathed in very deeply, consciously.

When he groaned, the room was gone. When he opened his eyes, the hospital was gone. When he sat up, the world was gone. When he looked at her, the universe was gone. When he smiled, everything was good. When he leaned forward, everything was worth it. When their lips met, they were alone and content to never be anywhere else. When the kiss ended, the two of them inches apart, eyes not blinking so as not to miss, everything was obliterated, and she was fine with that.


End file.
